My father always use to say to me “Life is beautiful”.
Our first grand grandchild, ‘beautiful’ Florence, was born six weeks ago. I can’t help it but I went ‘gaga’ when I first saw her perfect little hands. Everything about her expresses her potential for life and living.
Last Sunday was my father’s 40 day memorial. I had asked a friend to organise things for me in a small church about thirty minutes drive from us in Milia (a beautiful Greek mountain village) . These small community churches are often maintained by the retired ladies of the villages and the local priest revolves around the three communities he serves.
When we arrived there were about a dozen people in the church. I informed the lady who was organising the votive candles at the entrance of the church, that we had come up for my fathers memorial service. She didn’t know anything about it - my friend had forgotten to inform them. My heart sank, but in a flash the priest was informed, a table was placed in front of the alter and laid the bread, candles and other things we had brought for the service where laid out.
The service was a moving experience for us, but more so because these strangers had accepted us into their community and made us feel welcome. After the service we went across to the village cafe for breakfast, we offered a local almond liqueur and the villagers paid their respects with the blessing “may you live long to honour the memory of your father.”
My father did managed to see his great grand daughter and although he was unable to physically move, the expression in his eyes and the gentle squeeze of his hand expressed his inner feelings. The circle of life was playing itself out in front of us – one soul leaving, one soul arriving. He was right ‘life is beautiful’ and so, so precious.

